Those Healing Words
by Lokaylee
Summary: Tate Mes has escaped the clutches of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s shady Specials Ward Project, but cannot survive for long before Bruce Banner finds her while working in India. There is a long road of recovery ahead of Tate, and she must learn to trust Bruce with her life - and possibly more. Bruce/OC Violence, torture, sexual content.
1. Prologue

I'm in a white room. No windows. No visible door. Just a single metal mesh vent near the floor.

I am on my back. For once, the canvas straitjacket is not restraining my arms. Shakily, I climb to my feet, which are bare. I'm in a clean white shirt and pants, similar to what a child would wear to bed in a hospital. However, this is no hospital. I reach up to touch my hair, and find that it is gone - most of it, anyways. It has been messily chopped short like a boy's. This is new.

My arms are aching on the crease of my inner elbow. Rolling up my sleeves with shaking, pale hands, I find a total of thirteen needle marks, a tiny purple bruise in the places where IV's have been. Sedatives, memory wipers, and poisonous substances have been forced into my veins over the past - how long has it been? - a year. A year to this day. It has been a year since I saw anyone or spoken.

"Hello, Miss Mes." It's him. The man who has been speaking to me through hidden speakers. I have never seen him, but I know his voice. It is equivalent to fingernails against a chalkboard, a serrated knife cutting through bone. I begin shaking as I collapse to my knees. This voice has subjected me to me more pain and more torture than any other. "It has been three-hundred and sixty-five days since we have brought you here. I am sure you remember the day will." I can almost hear his grin.

"At this point in time, I am done playing your games. It is time that you started speaking to us." He says the word 'us' an awful lot. Who is 'us' anyways? I can't dwell on the thought for long, because his voice clicks off the intercom, and it is silent once more. Something bad is about to happen, I can feel it in every inch of my body.

Suddenly, I hear a soft hissing noise. Looking around frantically, I find the source: the mesh vent. It sounds like air escaping a balloon through a tiny hole. It's hardly noticeable, but a clear mist begins to seep into the room. I realize what's happening with a jolt: I am being gassed. I clamber to the far corner of the room, sinking to my knees, which I clutch desperately. This is it, I'm going to die. I hold my breath for as long as possible, but I feel the mist settle on my skin. It doesn't do anything but leave a deadly cold residue. I can't hold my breath anymore. I must breathe.

I take in a gulp of oxygen, and my throat and chest is set on fire. There is a detached, high-pitched noise that nearly blows my eardrums. A scream. My scream. I can't stop it. The gas, it's setting flame to my mouth and throat and lungs. It's acidic. I can feel it tearing tiny holes in my flesh, creating sores and blistering every ounce of fragile life. Screaming requires breathing, so I only inhale more of the toxic gas. Then, I hear myself speak. Yell.

"Please, stop! Stop! STOP! I'LL DO ANYTHING! I'LL DO ANYTHING!"

The hissing stops immediately. I am curled up on the ground, sobbing. The saltwater in my tears burns the back of my throat even more. I can't stop crying. I have gone numb to what's going on around me: a wall sliding back, a figure in scrubs with a syringe. No. No, I don't want any more of that. I am in so much pain.

"GET AWAY FROM ME! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!"

I am on the figure in an instant, crashing us both to the ground. I blindly claw his face, tear apart his clothing bit by bit, until the sharp jab of a needle meeting my back stops me. Slowly, the world turns to mush. I stop trying.

I am done.

I am broken.


	2. Chapter 1

**Thank you very much for the follows and favorites! Here's your first chapter. Enjoy.**

**I don't own Marvel or Bruce. Too bad, eh?  
**

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The last embers of a gorgeous Indian sunset sunk into the horizon, and I was concealed by the long shadows of the ramshackle homes that lined these village streets. The night, while dangerous, was my day. It was when I left the relative safety of the back alley in which I lived and roamed the dirt roads in search of food, clean water, and most importantly, jobs. That night, however, I was unlucky. While normally there were at least a couple of drug smugglers who were looking for someone to take care of unfortunate customers who hadn't paid their dues, or if I'm lucky, someone with a hit list that needed to be covered, this night was different. Once again, I was empty handed.

I ended up wandering along the rickety fence line, where some families kept their hogs and goats and others small herb gardens. I considered stealing out of desperation, but that wouldn't have helped with my plan of keeping out of the public eye. Instead, I found myself at the back door of my only friend, Sybil's, home. It was a tiny thatch-roofed hut where she and her three children lived. It was rare for me to come here in search of help; I preferred to work for myself. However, like I mentioned earlier, I was desperate. The ache in the pit of my stomach and my sore throat and chest was in dire need of at least a cup of water, maybe tea if I was lucky.

I didn't have to wait long. The creaky door swung open, and Sybil's only daughter, Vita, stood before me. I offered a kind smile. "Hello, Vita. Remember me? I'm your mommy's friend, Tate. Is your mommy here tonight?" The little girl smiled as she remembered me and nodded.

"She's here. She's making supper!" Vita said excitedly, and I can't help but grin at the girl's bubbly nature. "Mom! Your friend is here!" She called into the house, and Sybil appeared as her daughter jogged away.

"Tate," Sybil breathed, and she looked shocked. I must have looked worse for wear. The illness had been getting worse lately, the illness that S.H.I.E.L.D. had left me to die with. "Are you alright?"

"It's been proving to be a rough month. I'm sorry, I'm interrupting your dinner, I can come back – " I began, but was cut off by the kind woman in front of me.

"Don't start with that, you get in here right now. I'll make you some lemongrass tea." Sybil's voice was full of anxiety, and I know she was worrying about me. _No one should worry about me. I'm far from worth worrying over. _Still, I walked inside, closing the door behind me. Sybil tended to dinner and a fresh kettle of tea, her long black braid swishing back and forth as she moved. A strong fragrance of herbs and sharp spices wafted into my palette, and I smiled a bit. It was the smell of home. "I just picked these leaves yesterday, so it should be nice and strong for your throat."

"Thank you, Sybil," I responded gratefully, taking a seat at the table. I unbuckled the belt holster that my Katana, a type of ancient Asian sword, was in. It was my survival, my prime weapon of choice. It had been in my family for several generations, even though I was not of Asian origin myself. I began learning the art of the Katana when I was six and have since mastered the skill. It was the reason S.H.I.E.L.D. recruited me in the first place. I set the sword on the table, trying to push back the painful memories that blossom from thinking about the agency that has caused me so much torture.

"Vita, bring Tate her tea, please," Sybil called over to her daughter, who was busy with a sewn ragdoll. She obeyed, bringing me a worn ceramic mug of honey colored liquid. I took it graciously.

"Thank you, Vita," I said to the girl, who simply smiled in response. I brought the tea to my lips and sipped the sweet beverage. I closed my eyes, relishing the flavor. India has the best tea leaves you could ever dream of. The hot drink warmed my respiratory system, bringing a soothing feeling to the scars left from the poisonous gas S.H.I.E.L.D. used on me over two years ago. "Mmm. You make a mean tea, Sybil. Always have."

"More American slang I do not understand," Sybil laughed, and I joined in.

"Mean can be defined as fantastic or wonderful," I explained. Sybil wasn't raised speaking English, but she was determined to teach her children both Sanskrit and English. I was fond of the loving mother, and though she was only a few years older than me, she was something of a role model. If I ever lived to have a family, I decided, I wanted to be a mother like Sybil was. The Indian woman sat across from me with her own mug of tea.

"How are you feeling, Tate?" She asked quietly, her eyes searching my face desperately. Sybil worried about me too much. I shook my head slightly.

"I'm fine," I assured her. Being the intelligent woman she is, Sybil did not believe me. She stared at me in the eyes, and I couldn't resist lying to my only friend. I sighed. "It's getting progressively worse, just as they told me it would."

"Will you ever tell me who did this to you?" Sybil asked. "And do not tell me 'it was the people I once worked with'. Whoever has done this needs to be held responsible –"

"I've told you, Sybil; there's nothing that can be done about it. I've been to every healer I can afford, and nothing seems to work for long. Your tea is the best remedy," I assured the worrisome woman, who only frowned. She had heard this spiel over and over again and never once believed it. "Syb –" I was immediately cut off when my chest heaved, and I coughed, blood splattering all over the table. There was a stabbing pain in my chest as if I was struck with a poisonous dart, and I collapsed on the floor of Sybil's hut.

The blood roaring in my ears cut off all noises from the outside environment. I gasped for breath, but choked on the blood pooling in my chest and throat. There was too much of it. I was suffocating, and fast. I saw the world from a sideways angle: Sybil desperately trying to help. She turned and yelled something at Vita, who looked horrified by the scene. She ran out the door.

My chest burned, it burned as if it was on fire. Black dots began clouding my vision from lack of oxygen, and I heaved again and again, blood spilling onto the floor and staining the wood, pooling up in knotholes and drenching my and Sybil's clothing. There was so much pain, and no breath to calm my throat. That was when I began drifting.

I couldn't see anything but red. Then there was nothing, just blackness. It felt as if I was floating on the surface of a lake, bobbing up and down with the waves. My head felt light in an almost pleasant way. _Am I dead…? _Memories flashed before my eyes, of white rooms, straitjackets, and sterilized needles breaking the tender flesh of my skin. I felt nothing. No emotion. No pain.

Suddenly, something pulled my from the water and back to reality with a sharp tug. I was back on the floor of Sybil's home. I could only see blurs, colored shapes that were moving around me. My eyes focused more, and above me, there was a man that struck me as somewhat familiar. He had graying hair, rimless glasses, and the most striking chocolate-brown eyes I ever saw. There was blood all over his mouth, and he was still spitting out the liquid. I tried to ask what happened, but all that came out of my mouth was mush.

"She's alive," The man breathed, covering his mouth with a hand. "What happened to her?" It was then that I passed out once more.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: I apologize for how long this took to get out. I never realized people actually wanted more. o.e Anyways, here it is! I'll try to update more often from now on. Enjoy! **

**I don't own Marvel.  
**

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It felt like my eyelids were sealed shut with paste and left to dry in the sun. I forced them open, my surroundings blurred. There was a soft light that made the room glow, and I could barely make out the bed I was laying on. _A bed? _I hadn't slept on a bed in years. I blinked, and everything slowly became sharper. I was in a hut, but it wasn't Sybil's. This immediately caused alarm to pool around in my stomach. A light breeze strayed in through the open window, where rays of moonlight struck the wood floors. It was somewhat calming, until I turned and saw the man sitting next to me.

It was the same man that had the blood on his face before. I jumped back, yelping in surprise, nearly falling off the bed in the opposite direction. "Who – who are you? Who the hell are you?" I jumped off the straw-filled mattress, stumbling back. I realized I was only wearing my worn jeans and white blouse, which was covered in red stains – my corset, jacket, everything was gone. My Katana as well. _My Katana. _I wasn't very steady on my feet; a wave of dizziness swept over me and I fell to my knees.

"Easy, easy!" The man hurried over, kneeling down to my level. His shirt was still bloodstained from before as well. "I – I'm Dr. Bruce Banner. Please, try not to hurt yourself," He spluttered, obvious concern in his eyes. His hands were raised, palms outwards, to show he wasn't armed. I stared, but stayed still. "Who are you?"

I wondered whether or not to answer him. He was not Indian, that was obvious. His white skin shined in the candle and moonlight. This was either a reason to trust him, or get the hell out. Sometimes escaped war veterans would harass women of small villages like this – I knew this from experience. However, this man didn't look like a veteran. He appeared perfectly sane. However, appearances often deceive.

I found my voice at last. "I'm Tate Mes," I said quietly. The words scraped against my raw throat, and I cringed. Bruce, or so he called himself, made a move towards me, and I flinched, stumbling back. I made a move towards the door, terror rising in my throat. I attempted to scream, but was cut short as a hand found its way over my mouth. His other arm was wrapped firmly around my waist, and I began to panic.

"I'm not trying to hurt you! I'm trying to help you, I swear," Bruce said in my ear. "I'll let go, but please try and relax so I can just talk to you." His words were spoken slowly and calmly, as if trying to console a small child. Somewhere in my mind I knew this man truly was trying to protect me from myself, and though I did not yet trust him, I stilled, and he let go of my mouth and waist. I crouched over on the floor, dizzy and breathing heavily. "Are you alright, Tate?"

"What do you think? _You're _the doctor," I muttered, straightening up a little. "Where are my things?" Bruce gave me a blank stare, and then looked over at the corner of the room, where the rest of my clothing, Katana, and satchel sat in a neat pile. I headed over there, my knees shaking as I went. The doctor obviously noticed, because when I turned, he was standing directly behind me with his arms out as if ready to catch me if I fell. I jumped. "What the hell?! You can't just – just go and sneak up behind people like that!" I snapped, grabbing my things and swerving around Bruce to sit on the bed. I felt my face redden. "I'm sorry. I'm just…jumpy." I started lacing up my corset. There was a small silence, in which I only heard my heart beating nervously and cicadas buzzing outside.

"You know, that thing doesn't really help your respiratory problems," Bruce said, pointing at the corset.

"What do you know about my – my "respiratory problems"? Anyways, I don't lace it very tight," The second part was added in a murmur. I slid on my jacket, a red velvet garment with silver embroidery and flowing sleeves.

"I know you have the worst case of lung and esophageal scarring I've ever seen. I know you very nearly choked to death on your own blood and would have had Sybil not gotten to me as soon as she did," Bruce pointed out. He was correct. What bothered me was the fact that he had looked into my mouth while I was unconscious. "I also know that I'm not letting you leave until you tell me how this happened."

"Genetics. Cancer. Smoking. Take your pick, Sherlock," I retorted, strapping on the belt that held my Katana. I headed towards the door, taking slow, steady steps as if trying to drunkenly pass a DUI test. It was obvious how weak I was. The illness was simply wiping me out completely.

"I can help you, Tate. I know you've been to every healer within fifty miles. I have advantages that none of them had. I can get my hands on the most advanced technology –"

"Then what the hell are you doing here in the most remote part of India?" I said, turning my head the slightest of a fraction.

"The question is, what are _you _doing here, Tate Mes?" Bruce responded without hesitation, and I turned around, giving the man a look of intimidation that didn't seem to faze him a bit. This doctor had no business prying into my past, but there was something about him that no other person I had seen in two years had, and that was empathy. Bruce was the only person to show any sort of empathy towards me in the two years I had been living this life. I was also curious about his claim to help me – and what it had to do with the reason behind his empathy.

"I am here because I have no choice." I chose my words carefully, speaking slowly and deliberately before I walked to the edge of the bed and sat down, staring at the grains of the worn wood floors. "They think I'm dead, but I'm not. If I ever show my face in the real world, I really _will _be dead."

"Who is 'they'?" Bruce asked softly, sitting next to me. When I didn't respond, he asked again. "Tate, who is 'they'? Are 'they' the ones who injured you?" I felt my heart race and my palms turn moist. I clenched and unclenched my fists. "Tate, you can tell me. I promise."

"It – it's an organization in the United States. They call themselves the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. S.H.I.E.L.D. for short. S.H.I.E.L.D. and I don't get along, per se," I explained, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop myself. When I looked at Bruce, he had a mixed look of confusion and shock on his face.

"I – I don't believe S.H.I.E.L.D. would do something like this to you. They're certainly a reliable organization that has done wonders with technology, but –"

"Oh, they _certainly _are, Dr. Banner," I mocked him, standing up once again. "I figured you wouldn't believe me, you, a wealthy doctor who has no care for anyone else in this world. What do you know about S.H.I.E.L.D., anyways?"

There was another short silence until Bruce spoke, his hands still folded in his lap. His face revealed nothing more. "I know they're after my…special abilities. What else do you think a, erm, 'wealthy' doctor like me would be here for? I'm hiding, just the same as you, from the very same organization and possibly more."


	4. Chapter 3

Either this was a scary coincidence, or Bruce was lying. I leaned towards the latter, but the man's face said otherwise. "You mean…you were part of the Specials Ward Project, too?" I whispered, glancing around nervously.

Bruce frowned. "The what?" _Shit. _I had assumed he came from the same background as me. Why else would one be hiding from S.H.I.E.L.D.? The only other option was if Bruce had done something horrible to make the highest security administration in the world come after him. I swallowed hard. Then again, he had said he had connections…

"Tate." Bruce interrupted me from my thoughts. "What is the Specials Ward Project?"

"It's nothing," I murmured, looking down at the floor again. "Why are you hiding from S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"That's not important. Your health is more important than –" Bruce began, but I cut him off.

"Hardly. I'm just a stranger from the streets. Why do you want to help me so much?" I inquired, staring at Bruce hard in those honest, blue eyes. There was a short silence before the doctor responded.

"First off, I've never seen such severe scarring, and I haven't even seen your lungs yet. Hell, I haven't even heard of a condition that causes that kind of damage. Second, you are somehow connected to S.H.I.E.L.D. and this 'Specials Ward Project', and I plan on finding out how, whether you like it or not."

"Well, I hate to burst your bubble doc, but I'm not allowed within range of the contiguous United States, unless I want to have my head blown off by the first S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who comes within a mile of me."

Bruce ran a hand through is hair, looking troubled. "I don't believe S.H.I.E.L.D. would do something like that, no matter what kind of trouble you're supposedly in."

"You obviously don't know S.H.I.E.L.D. very well, then. Dr. Banner, I am a wanted escapee. A refugee. There's no way S.H.I.E.L.D. would ever let me live if I were to return."

"You're not going to live either way!" Bruce yelled, his calm exterior wearing thin. He paused, took a deep breath, and looked at me again. "I'm sorry. I have a short temper. It's really my fear for your life that lights my fuse."

"I still don't understand why you care so much about my life," I murmured, suddenly feeling exhausted by the conversation, which was obviously going nowhere. I sat back down on the bed, rubbing my neck with one hand.

"I'll tell you on the way to the airport. I have a jet waiting." Bruce sounded uncomfortable, as if the words he spoke didn't fit in his mouth right. I gaped. "I called to have it arranged when you were out." He grabbed a worn duffle bag from the foot of the bed that I hadn't noticed before.

No. No, no, no. Fear overcame me, knowing that the moment I set foot in America, S.H.I.E.L.D. would be on my ass in an instant. I took a half step back, swung around on my heel, and darted out the doorway. Little did I know, there was an army truck parked right outside. The driver, a man with graying hair in full military uniform, hopped out of the front seat. "Ms. Mes, correct? I'm Sergeant John Banks, I'll be taking you and Dr. Banner to the airport tonight. If –" He began. I didn't stay to hear the rest. I started sprinting has hard and fast as I could.

I thought as quickly as I could, which wasn't very fast considering I was having a panic attack. I had to get where there were hardly any roads and a lot of people. Suddenly, it hit me that I had no idea where I was going. I had never been to this area of Calcutta, even though it appeared to be a spot just outside the center of the city. I had no idea where I was going, but I still ran.

The effect was immediate. My lungs were on fire, and I felt blood trickle out of both nostrils into my mouth. My breath was raspy and withered. I hadn't even been running for a minute. My legs felt like they weren't attached to my body. I stumbled one, two times. People, homes and businesses became flashes of light and color in the moonlit night. Then, I heard the roaring engine of a large vehicle behind me. _No. No. No. No. No. _It was like a chant in my head.

I tripped, on what, I know not. I flew headfirst into the gravel road, clinging my arms to my chest as I curled into a fetal position. I vomited a fountain of red into the dried grass. I heard footsteps and desperately tried to scramble away, but a pair of hands caught me. _No. No. No. No. No. _I hadn't realized I was saying this out loud.

"It's okay, Tate. It's okay. I promise. You're safe. You're safe." I heard Bruce's soothing voice over the ringing and roaring in my ears. I slumped into his arms, giving in, giving up. With the doctor's support, I climbed into the back of the SUV, where Bruce helped me into a lying position. I felt him remove my corset and jacket. My sense of reality slipped in and out of grasp, and when Bruce spoke again, his words were slurred. "I'm going to give you something to help you relax. You may fall asleep. Just take a deep breath through your mouth – there. Done."

It wasn't long before I felt my muscles give way to the medicine, and my eyelids felt heavy. Before I knew it, the darkness took over, and sleep overcame me.

"…and that's how I found her. Blood everywhere…so much of it. I can't believe she's still alive."

"How do you think she ended up like this? Genetic disorder, maybe?"

"Maybe. She kept mentioning S.H.I.E.L.D. and something called the Specials Ward Project. Have you heard of it?"

"Never. And you know how Fury keeps me updated. Are you sure she's mentally stable?"

"…No. There's evident post-traumatic stress. I couldn't even get near her when she was conscious. She is competent, though, if that's what you're asking."

"I trust your deduction, Dr. Banner. Do you think she was a test subject or something?"

"Tested on…tortured…I don't know. It will take time to get information. For now, her physical health is my main concern."

"Then are you sure taking her to the tower is the best choice? Why not a hospital, one that S.H.I.E.L.D. owns?"

"She said S.H.I.E.L.D. was after her, so I'm not taking any chances. Anyways, Tony owes me one, and he has the best technology. So, yes…"

My eyes flew open, and my body jumped. _A nightmare. _Slowly, I took in my surroundings. I was in some kind of reclined seat, with similar seats in upright positions in sporadic locations around the room. The whirring sound of an engine hit my ears, and I noticed the familiar square windows. An airplane?

I made a move to sit up, but something tugged at my face and arm. I glanced down. A single IV line was in my hand. It was attached to a bag filled with clear liquid hanging from a hook. I glanced at my reflection in the plane window. Taped to my face was an oxygen line; two tubes were inserted a small ways into my nostrils. My eyes looked gaunt and ghastly, my cheekbones sunken in. My hair was stringy and sweaty, slicked back with the moisture. I hadn't really looked in a mirror in who knows how long in India; however, my appearances did not surprise me.

"Tate. You're awake." A voice startled me out of my stare, and I whipped my head around to find Bruce standing next to me.

"Your shirt is blue," I croaked, the words rasping against my throat.

Bruce looked confused. "What?"

"I thought we were stating the obvious." I coughed, laying back in the chair.

Bruce chuckled once, then knelt down to my level. I stared blankly at the overhead fans, which were blowing a soft, cool air onto my face. It was strange, coming from living on the streets in Calcutta to being on a luxury jet. All that had happened in the past day was overwhelming. I shut my eyes against the memories. "How are you feeling?"

"Fantastic."

"I was born in Paris."

"What?"

"I thought we were stating lies."

I opened my eyes, rolling them. "I feel like shit. How do you expect me to feel?" I snapped.

"I mean, what symptoms are you experiencing?" My tone did not seem to affect Bruce as he ignored my attitude.

"Well…my throat and chest don't burn as much, but it's still sore. It feels like I've lost my voice."

"The IV is a line for morphine. It's all I have available at the moment, but I'm hoping to get you started on antibiotics as soon as we get to the tower."

"Tower?" I wondered aloud.

"I have some…friends there. Technology. It's one of the safest places in the world, so you don't have to worry about that." Bruce sounded as if he was explaining things to a small child. I was probably as frail as one.

I nodded once, then suddenly remembered something. "You said you were going to tell me why you care so much about my life."

A look of sadness and pity came across Bruce's eyes, then disappeared. "Well…I care so much because you remind me of how I once was." This confession was followed by silence. I wasn't sure how to take that, but I could only wonder about Bruce's past. He hadn't heard of the Specials Ward Project, so how else could he empathize with such pain and torture?

A female's voice suddenly came over the intercom. "Dr. Banner, we will be landing in New York in approximately five minutes. The time is about twelve hundred hours and forty-four minutes. We're looking at a clear and steady landing."

"Thank you, Clarrise," Bruce responded. New York? Had it really been that long since I had been chased down by Bruce and Sergeant Banks? "Once we land, we're going to take a car to A Tower. I promise that you'll be completely safe and secure the entire time."

I nodded again as the plane began to descend. _Here goes nothing._


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **I apologize for not updating sooner. Life has been...well, a lot of things have happened since I last updated. I hope those of you who still are following THW still enjoy this! Thank you!

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_It is completely dark except for a single fluorescent bulb hanging on a wire above my body. I know this place. I have been here before. I tug at my arms and legs, only to find that they are somehow attached to the cold, metal table my naked body is lying upon. At vital places on my skin, my heart, lungs, temples, and joints, are electrodes, all attached with colored wires to a white box with many dials on it. "Hello?" I call out. No response. I start shuddering, violent spasms of fear taking over. Sweat beads in tiny pools at my hairline. Then, a single hand reaches over to the white box, clicks a dial three times to the right, and suddenly, I am on fire._

"Tate. Tate, wake up. We're here." Bruce's voice broke through my nightmare. My eyes shot open, tiny dots still clouding my vision. I blinked once, and his look of concern washed over me. "What's wrong?" How was it so clear to him that something is wrong? I glance over my body, which has been covered in a thick, black blanket made out of something expensive. My skin is still tingling slightly from the flashback.

"Nightmare," I murmured, knowing lying wouldn't work on this man. He had obviously seen too many lies: patients, downsizing their pain and problems. I was a good liar, too. How else had I gotten out of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s clutches? Trying to distract myself, I looked out the car window. We were in a parking garage, where cement walls made me feel claustrophobic and buzzing fluorescent bulbs are the only source of light. It reminded me of my nightmare. I shiver, pulling the blanket closer around me.

While I was staring, Bruce had opened the car door, where a wheelchair was waiting. I sighed. "Bruce, I don't need that. I'm not a cripple." He frowned his usual frown, the one where the squiggly line appeared in his forehead. A doctor's frown.

"Well, if you want to carry that thing, that's fine by me." Bruce shrugged, nodding towards the green oxygen tank on the floor of the car. I scowled at it. Of course he'd find some way to get me into the chair. Still scowling, I lifted myself up – surprised at how weak I truly felt – and sat back down in the wheelchair. Bruce attached the IV bag to one hook and the oxygen take to the other.

It was then that it truly hit me how screwed over I was. I was relying on a chair and another human being on my survival. The bag of medicine and container of oxygen was keeping me alive. I could no longer support myself – and it was the most debilitating feeling I had ever experienced.

"Hey, hey, don't – don't cry, Tate." Bruce knelt down in front of me. I hadn't even realized I was crying until I felt the droplets on my white hands. "Everything is going to be fine." It sounded more like he was reassuring himself rather than me.

"I – I'm sorry. I don't – I don't ever cry, really," I sniffled, frowning at how pitiful I sounded. Bruce must have thought I was crying because of pain, because he suddenly dismissed the driver and was quickly wheeling me toward the nearest elevator.

Inside, I noticed we were two floors below ground level. Bruce pressed the button for the fortieth floor. There were fifty-five floors in all. "You said this was…what tower?" I turned around so I could see the man's face. He immediately looked uncomfortable.

"Well, I didn't. It's the Avengers Tower. A group of extraordinary people live here, and, well, I happen to be one of them."

"Avengers as in…The Avengers Initiative? You…you're part of The Avengers Initiative?"

"You know about it?"

"I heard it through the grapevine when I was in India." I shrugged. "I don't really know anything about it, per se, but I know it had something to do with the incident here in New York last year. Anyways, how do you live here? You were in Calcutta," I pointed out.

"I…left." Bruce coughed once, indicating that the conversation was over. For now.

A sudden thought occurred to me. "Wait a second." We were rapidly approaching the fortieth floor. "You said you were going to keep me safe from S.H.I.E.L.D. Isn't The Avengers Initiative _run by S.H.I.E.L.D.?_"

"Yes, but –"

"You're turning me in," I realized. It made perfect sense. Bruce, a kind-hearted doctor offering his welfare to a wanted escapee, only to bring her back to America, not for medicine, but for…what? A reward?

"I'm not! Tate. Listen to me. I don't want to be associated with S.H.I.E.L.D. Honestly, I don't think any of the Avengers do. S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't in charge of us anymore. We're…separate. Trust me." Bruce was rushing to get his words out, as if to prevent me from jumping to conclusions.

Somehow, I trusted this man. I couldn't explain why, but I did. I nodded once, just as the elevator doors slid open, revealing a long, wide hallway going either direction. The walls to the large rooms were clear, and inside was a plethora of robotics and technology like I had never seen before. Stainless steel accented every surface.

Bruce wheeled me down the corridor, past several empty workshops until I heard what sounded like shredding metal. I cringed as the sound resonated in my ears and made my head pound. We stopped outside a room that was the exact opposite of the others. Instead of the normal neatness, scraps of metal, toolboxes, and papers were scattered randomly on the floor. Hard rock music was blasting from several surround-sound speakers. A man with his back turned was standing over the source of the shredding sound, a machine of some sort, where sparks were flying. I recognized the song as Smoke on the Water by Deep Purple.

Bruce glanced at me with a nervous look on his face. I stared back, puzzled, before he tapped in a code on the workshop door and slipped inside. "Wait here," He instructed, closing the door behind him. I could just barely make out the conversation taking place inside.

"Sir, you have a visitor." The first voice I did not recognize and could not find the source of. However, it sounded like a man with an English accent.

"Not now, J.A.R.V.I.S., unless it's Fury –" The man with his back turned sounded irritated, but was cut off by Bruce.

"Tony." It only took this word to make the man called Tony whirl around. I immediately recognized him – hair, facial hair. It was the one and only Tony Stark. I was only becoming more and more confused. How did Bruce have connections to Tony Stark? There was only one conclusion: Tony Stark, the infamous Iron Man, was part of the Avenger's Initiative. I vaguely remembered him being turned down for the program, which only added to my confusion. I figured being in India for several years wasn't the best way to keep up on current events in America.

"Bruce…? I thought you were in Calcutta!" Tony's face broke out in a grin, and the two exchanged a handshake. _They're friends. _"How long has it been? Six months already?"

"Yeah, I was. I guess I'm back now." I couldn't see Bruce's face, but I knew he was glad to see his friend again.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be off studying the mystic ways of witch doctors or something?" Tony sounded severely sarcastic, and I briefly wondered if he was as arrogant as the tabloids said he was.

"I was, I…was. I have a favor to ask you. I was wondering if I could use your facilities here."

"It's not mine, it's ours, remember? Why didn't you call me up? What do you need the labs for? New project?"

"Um…a patient, actually." At this point, Bruce turned and looked at me. Tony followed his gaze, and his jaw dropped. I couldn't help but feel self-conscious. I glanced downwards.

"You brought a patient from Calcutta here? Why here? She doesn't look Indian, you know, she's actually rather pale –"

"That's not the point. Point is…" Bruce lowered his voice and leaned in close to Tony. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I had no doubt that he was talking about me, most likely how he knew about my connections to S.H.I.E.L.D. among other things.

Tony's face became serious, the smile fading from his face. I caught a couple of last words from Bruce. "She's dying, Tony." My heart thudded in the next few seconds of silence. Finally, Tony spoke.

"Do whatever you have to, Bruce. I'll do what I can to help." Tony clapped a hand on Bruce's back, and the two began approaching me. I shrunk down into myself as much as possible.

"Tate, short for Tatianah, I presume? You should have kept the latter name. Much sexier. Maybe a bit too porno, for you, though…" Tony began, but trailed off as I gave him a death stare. I didn't like this in the slightest, but had no choice. I certainly couldn't run now.

"Yes. Tate. And you're the ignorant dick who owns the place, I presume?" I snapped, though the words didn't have much anger to them due to my severe fatigue.

Tony laughed. It wasn't mocking or snobby, it was a real laugh. I relaxed a bit. "I like her already."

Bruce seemed to force a smile. Obviously, he was the only one who realized how serious the situation really was. "Tate, Tony is letting us use one of his labs. You'll stay here, with the rest of us."

Rest of us? I didn't like the sound of that. I nodded, at a loss for words. I couldn't wonder who else lived at the tower for long, though, for fatigue overcame me and I began to nod off once again.


End file.
